Walking Just to Stumble
by Alachai
Summary: Sight and visions gone, Dean and John wish there was a way that Sam could have them again. Sequel to ‘A Path to Darkness’.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: _**_This is the story in sequel to A Path to Darkness (which is how everything here happened). You don't have to read the first one, but it might help you to follow along. I'd also like to thank my beta, Wild Wolf Free17! It feels good to have this story up, finally! _

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_The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach -Author, unknown. _

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Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 1

November 5th

There was never much snow in Georgia – _whatever_ part he and his family currently resided in.

But the roads were icy, thick. Jagged snakes in the lanes were purely gravel or dirt; and those were frozen solidly over. Maybe it was just that day in particular, or maybe it was because something bad was going to happen.

Sam, furious as he was, prodded the gas petal of the Impala harder. He'd reached, earlier that day, before he dropped his brother off at their house, his two-beer maximum.

The sun was sinking and the street, now nearing the 'main' section of town, was becoming more and more crowded. There were people everywhere. _Christmas_ shopping.

Sam welcomed a playful scowl and imagined Dean's reaction in his mind _if_ his older brother could just see mother and daughter crossing the street – hand in hand, clad in overalls, plaid jackets, and straw-threaded hats. It seemed like out of a dream; somewhere that he actually wanted to live – _for life_.

Stopped at the only red light, which he now assumed to be broken, Sam watched, curiosity sparking his insides, as a dark man suited in an expensive leather coat made his way towards the Impala. The driver's window was down; and the man was carrying a bucket. Not taking his eyes off the on-coming figure, the youngest Winchester ignored the impatient honks_; the man captivated him_.

_Dean would smirk_, Sam thought, letting his older brother's sarcastic ways fill his mind; _women are supposed to be the only sex that captivate the Winchesters – _not in this way though.

The '67 midnight-black Chevy let out a low grunt and sputter of rebellion as the man pulled up along side the window.

"Hi," the stranger said, his voice filled with thick evil; _not_ the kind of '_supernatural' evil_, Sam counteracted.

"Hi," Sam let off, and in the blink of an eye, the man tossed the continents of the bucket in Sam's face – _it burned_.

* * *

November 18th

"Why hasn't Dad seen me since_ that_ day?"

Dean Winchester gulped, unaware that his brother could hear the fearful gesture. Sam's voice was trembling; it sounded scared – and it was _Dean's job_ to _never_ let his baby brother be scared. _Ever_.

And '_that_' day- the older brother scowled at the thought; if only he hadn't been too drunk to notice how bad off Sam was.

"Sam." Dean's head yanked up as the clicking heels of his brother's nurse prodded by the room – _passing_ it. "It's-"

"He's mad at me, Dean, isn't he?" Dean looked up again from his lightly aqua-padded wooden hospital chair to glower at his brother. _He couldn't_, he found. Sam was dressed and ready to go home – to their rental house that their father chipped in for free. But _no_, Dean couldn't be mad at Sam, not anymore. His brother – his little brother, the one he was to protect, risk his life for, was chained by tubes and IVs to an uncomfortable hospital bed was _fine_.

_Fine_; or so the doctors said.

But the fact that his little brother's piercing bluish-green eyes were now lifeless was not – '_fine'_. The fact that he had the mixed up title of 'acute bilateral blindness' _was not okay_.

"No, Sammy." Dean forced the hard lump swelling up in his throat down as his green eyes lingered on Sam's un-responding ones. "Dad's not mad at you; Dad could never be mad at you if he tried."

"Then why," and the twenty-three-year-old's voice was now cold as he continued; he detected the weakness in Dean's argument. "hasn't he even visited me?"

_He has, Sammy_. Dean bit his lip from saying the words he yearned to speak. _You just couldn't see him_.

"He's been busy with a hunt."

"_What_ hunt, Dean?" Sam scowled and Dean wished that their 'light' conversation from a little over an hour ago would return.

Dean coughed. "Possessed dogs."

"_Black_ dogs?" Sam corrected, his battered red eyelids closed tightly over his eyes and then re-opened to break Dean's heart even more.

"Those," Dean choked again. He _knew_ it was a lie; _Sam_ knew it was a lie.

"So _that's_ the thing we got dragged down here for?" No, he knew it wasn't.

"Yep." Dean then consumed himself with a yawn. He needed a strong cup of caffeine, badly.

"Has it snowed yet?" Sam was smiling now; Dean was caught off guard. That one thing – little frozen water droplets, could make his brother smile. His brother was still a kid; but these 'little' things, Dean realized, did not amuse Sam this easily over a year ago.

"No." Dean shuddered as he drew in another exaggerated breath. _Damn,_ the hospital was a cold place. "It's waiting for you."

"What do you mean it's 'waiting' for me?" Sam's tired smile deepened as he tilted his head in what he assumed to be his brother's direction.

"It's waiting to snow until you get the hell out of this hell-joint," Dean muttered, manliness and testosterone reminding him that this was serious – _professional_; just as John directed.

"I seriously doubt they'll ever let me out of here," Sam chuckled – something that he hadn't done in over fourteen days.

"Yeah," Dean laughed lightly, eyes landing on Sam's doctor out in the hallway; _watching_ them.

"What's wrong?" Sam's face grew serious; he was psychic-boy after all.

"Dr. Emry has cared to join us," Dean mumbled. He despised his brother's doctor – the best doctor for 'these' conditions. The thing that ticked Dean off though, was that Dr. Emry was a know-it-all. He spoke a completely different language; one not equivalent to Latin.

"He's not that bad of a guy, Dean." Sam shook his head lightly, a mild chortle escaping his throat. "He's trying to get me out of here."

"I'm sure," Dean responded sarcastically as he watched the doctor fiddle with paperwork. "I'm sure that we can take you to some place, get Dad going with the voodoo crap, and then you'll be healed."

A scowl filled Sam's face yet again. "It doesn't work that way, Dean."

"You're the one who took me to a spiritual healer, there, Sammy-boy."

"It's _Sam_." Dean grinned; his brother was still vulnerable to be irritated. "And I'm not dying here, am I?"

Dean frowned as he let the bickering comments edging to escape him dissipate, and reality overtook him once again. "Nah, Sam." He was looking at his hands now, relieved that the doctor hadn't interrupted them yet. _But you sure were close..._

"And, hey." Dean controlled his voice to sound upbeat, somewhat cheerful. "You know-"

"Hello, boys," the doctor interrupted him; Dean's eyes narrowed and Dr. Emry's followed – _they were in competition, but for what?_

"How are you doing, Samuel?" Sam's head tilted in the direction of the doctor and Dean let his looks look like they could kill. _Sam_, not Samuel.

"I've had my better days." A fake grin swept across Sam's face as the doctor, Dean assumed, made a phony gesture and buried himself in Sam's paperwork. "When can I get out of here?"

"Once you're all healed up and ready to go." The angry stare deepened on the older brother's face; _the doctor should be a pediatrician – not someone who fixes up…_

"How soon will that be, Dr. Emry?" Dean's jaw tightened as he spoke up. His little brother's face was raked with chemical burns, as were other parts of his upper body; but the burns didn't bother him quite as much as his brother's eyes. The eyes were lifeless; _blind_, and what Sam couldn't tell him was that his 'psychic powers' had vanished. Were gone. Sam _was_ _blind_. _Sam…_

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**Next Chapter:** Saturday, May 12th (Unless something drastic has happened to me!)


	2. Chapter 2

_Special thanks to Wild Wolf Free17, for beta'ing this for me!_

_ Disclaimer: I own nothing._

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Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 2

November 20th

"Got it okay?" Dean controlled his voice to sound upbeat, concealing the worried grunt trying to escape his lips as Sam pushed all of his weight against Dean's shoulders.

"Yeah," Sam muttered hoarsely, his six-foot-four frame putting his brother's to shame. "Sorry, Dean."

"That's okay, Sam." Dean carefully maneuvered himself, Sam's overnight bag in one arm, and Sam gently leaning on his other side, into the open cabin's family room. "We're here."

"Thanks, Dean." Slowly moving his arm from across his guiding brother's shoulders, Sam took a lone step into the room. "Which direction's the chair?" His voice was wary, Dean noted with a sorrowful look – _Sam couldn't see a thing_.

"Here, let me guide you." Dean slung the dusty duffle bag down to the ground and raced up alongside his brother who quickly moved away from his offer.

"Let me do this. _On my own_."

Dean frowned and backed off; his brother's face was set fully into a scowl, arms crossed firmly against his muscular, jacketed chest.

"Take two steps to your right," the older brother complied with a sigh, and Sam matched his directions step by step then paused – _waiting_. The therapy he took at the hospital was a Godsend. "One step back and there's the chair."

A _cheap_ plastic lawn chair – Sam sat down with a huff, clutching the sides to steady himself. "Where's Dad, Dean?"

The question he'd been waiting three long hours for. "He went to the grocery store to pick some stuff up for dinner."

"Frozen dinners?" A grimace beamed off of the dark-headed man and possessed the light-headed one as well.

"Nah." Dean let his face form to fit as if he'd just swallowed a sour lemon. "We're going to _attempt_ to cook."

"I'd like to _see_ that." The statement was meant to be sarcastic; the only after-affect it had on the two of them was making the bitterness and sadness of the situation slowly grow.

"Well, Sam." For some reason, the older sibling felt bile in the back of his throat – and swallowed it painfully. "Someday you will."

* * *

Impatiently, John tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of his cheery black truck. The light was red and had been for a long ten minutes. The bed of the truck was piled with grocery bags and pain killers. And if John had calculated it right, this was the same intersection where his son had been…

_No_. John chose not to go that route. He chose not to believe that his son really was blinded by a human being who poured chemicals in on him. It was a trick of the yellow-eyed-demon. It was a trick to prepare his son for the war. The fight; the great battle, and Sam was supposed to be a warrior. A warrior on the demon's side.

But the 'blindness,' as the doctors liked to call it, was the fine line of Sam changing from his boy, to the soldier. To someone against human kind. The concept was to capture the world; and ever since John had figured this out, he prayed every night that he could help his son change.

And then he learned Sam had the visions. Did those still occur, though? Of course, blind people had to be able to see _some_ color. Did the nightmares of Jessica's death still exist? Could Sam still picture what his brother and father looked like; could he really see them in his mind?

Faithfully, the father had visited his son in the hospital every night. Quiet not to wake his son; careful not to get into a discussion with him. He was scared of his boy; scared that he might mess up.

In his mind, Sam was four again. John had followed a screaming and pleading Dean to the bottom of a cursed asylum's stairs where his younger boy lay. Something had pushed him down there, and decided to cut a gaping wound from Sam's stomach to his forehead. Then, he and Dean had waited in the hospital two weeks for Sam to recover. Then, Sam was healed. Then, Sam wasn't blinded.

John let his eyes roam up to the sky; it was overcast and cold. Back when Mary was alive, they'd loved those days. They'd sit for hours in the Impala, waiting to see the clouds break loose. And on some of those days, before they were married and had the boys, Mary's cousin and his fiancée would join them. John and James, Mary and Margaret; it all seemed to fit.

Then after Margaret died, James became an animal. He hurt Mary, and for that John held his life against him.

However, the day after Sam was blinded, James seemed to have disappeared. _Maybe_, John figured, _just maybe James hurt another part of his life that meant even more_.

The driver's window of his truck was rolled down, but John didn't pay attention to the man walking up to his window.

"John Winchester."

The father turned his head and let out a grin, somewhat filled with relief.

"Gordon Walker." John reached out his hand and let his vampire-slaying buddy shake it. "What are you doing here?"

"Just," and the African-American smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Paying some dues."

"I haven't heard or read anything." John frowned and turned his head to face the still red light. "What's going on?"

"I'm hunting a pack." Gordon's eyes jotted down to his feet. "Pure evil sons-of-bitches. They haven't arrived yet, though. I just figured I'd get here before they did."

"Smart, Gordon." John nodded his head in slight admiration. "That's smart."

"Say." Gordon's head shot up, a little too quickly. "How are your boys doing?"

John's frowned deepened again; the man before him had a good and determined memory, a little too good. "They're doing great." It was an elaborate lie; John was good at those. It was also a trap. Gordon knew about the Demon, knew what kind of evil it possessed, and researched its plans. And in a quick flash, John saw Gordon fret. "Especially Sam," John continued on, seeing the light turn green and tapping the gas petal gently. "He's doing wonderfully."


	3. Chapter 3

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 3

"I'm impressed."

It was truthful; Sam was shocked at the words he had just spoken. And then again, so were his father and brother. "You guys _really can_ cook."

The three Winchester men were sitting on a lawn table in the middle of the small, granite-counter-topped kitchen eating steak with various sides of perfectly cooked vegetables.

"How do you think you boys got to be healthy?" John retaliated as he stared at his dish of food, and then looked meekly at his younger son who was now frowning blindly.

"Good genetic traits," Dean joined in with sarcasm then cringed as he looked at his brother. Any words that led to, or related to, his blindness forced the depression to spread. "I mean…" Dean lifted his plastic fork high up in the air as if to make a point, ceasing to remember that Sam couldn't see. "The vegetables…they uh…"

"Stop it, Dean." Sam slowly and carefully pushed himself away from the table. "It's okay."

"Sam, where do you think you're going?" Dean pushed himself away from the table, and stood up – his brother was beginning to walk away.

"I'm practicing."

Dean leapt after his brother; Sam was walking head-long into a wall, arms outstretched.

"Sam…stop!" The father was up too, guarding his son away from the wall.

Sam stopped, lowering his arms as one of many frowns spread across his face.

"What the hell do you mean by practicing?" It was Dean this time; John, after all these years, was turning out to be the gentler one.

"Dean," Sam huffed, acting as though he were five again. "Did you know that blind people are able to walk less than one-millimeter away from a wall, and _**not**_ walk into it?"

Dean glared, and for the first time he was pissed-off that Sam wasn't able to see his angry emotions. "You— "

"That's enough." They both turned in the direction of John, who, Dean saw, was getting annoyed himself; but this time the annoyance was directed at his eldest son.

Sam's shoulders slowly slumped in appeasement. Life was thought to sometimes be too short, but unfortunately in his case, with Dean there, it would be way too long.

* * *

"Earlier today, I saw another hunter friend of mine." The moon waved a shadow of light in on the three men sitting together.

"What's his name?" Dean closed his eyes, not really caring for the answer. The witching hour had come and gone, yet John insisted that until Sam fell asleep, he and Dean would stay up.

"Gordon Walker."

"What does he look like?" It was Sam's new type of question – if he didn't understand, ask like a four-year-old.

John shifted uncomfortably, watching his youngest son lying motionlessly on the double-bed. "He's an African American. Shorter than me. Looks tough."

"How do you know him?" Dean was slowly nodding off; talking barely kept him awake, but it helped.

"I…" John paused; grateful that Sam's breathing was steady; grateful that Sam was finally sleeping so he didn't have to explain. "Your brother is asleep." His voice came in a hoarse whisper, still displeased with his older boy. "We should leave him alone, now."

* * *

It was four AM when Sam jolted awake, two arguing voices pulling him out of sleep. To normal seeing people, they would be heard as a whisper; to Sam, they made his ears ache with loudness.

"_I need to see your_-"

"_**No**__. You don't. He__** isn't**__ here_." The one voice, Sam noted, was undeniably his father's.

"_I __**know**__ he's in there, John_."

"_How_?"

"_I've seen Sam before. I've seen him again, a couple of weeks ago_." Sam shivered, the voice sounded familiar; he just couldn't quite place it.

"_Where in the hell did you see my boy_?"

"_I won't tell you that, Jonathon_." Like a computer search on Google, many opportunities of hearing this man's voice before presented themselves to Sam; still, he knew, none of them were right. "_But I will tell you that the next time I do see your son, he will be seen only in Hell. It's where he's supposed to be. If he's not already evil now, he's going to be soon enough_." Sam shivered. This man was against him; out to kill him. Out to…

"_No, Gordon, you're the __**only one**__ here who's going to Hell_."

_Out to blind him_. And yet again, Sam fell asleep, for the first time, dreaming of something. It was the smell of gas…mixed with a color. The first color that Sam's mind could even compute. It was the color of blood.

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_A/N: Thank you_ _Wild Wolf Free17 for helping me with this...And beta'ing it! As for the 'Disclaimer' I still don't own anything. The next chapter should be up Saturday, May 26. I'd also like to thank all of my reviewers – No matter what the rank, they always help, and I'm always grateful. _


	4. Chapter 4

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 4

With each gulp of air, his insides burned like a moth in a flame. A silent whimper escaped from Sam's lips as he knelt down over what he hoped to be the toilet, heaving again. Now, his kidneys and liver were burning slowly as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

"Here." Something plastic was pushed to his lips. "Drink this." The plastic thing was lifted, and water poured in his mouth – a moment later, it poured back out.

"Saltines." John, Sam could tell, was standing somewhere at the back of him; possibly the doorway of the bathroom. "He needs Saltines."

Crackers. _Another heave_. No, those did not sound suitable enough to his stomach.

"I-I'm— "

"Sshh, sshh, shh, don't talk now, Sammy." It was Dean; he could feel one of his brother's hands placed on the back of his head, gently_; the other must be on the cup_…

"Sorry I l-let you d-down." Sam's world was fading; it was growing black; his face was the picture of innocence, and so was his mind. A person, a stranger, wanted him dead. The stranger had practically said Sam was evil; that he belonged in Hell. Sam didn't understand these things, but Sam knew he had to make his life right and apologize before he did turn all the way.

* * *

"Oh, shit!" The second Dean walked by the toaster, the toast popped up, scaring him half to death, making him jump – letting his father laugh for the first time in days. 

"Are you— " John snorted, shaking his head. "Ok?"

"You're making toast?" The question was flat, incredulous; nevertheless, insulting to John.

"Oh, come on, it's not that hard."

"_Dad_."

"_Fine_, but it only happened one time. And no matter what you believe, the freaking motel _did not_ burn down!"

"Yes, it did. I saw it on the news."

"No, that was another motel."

"Dad, how many motels with the name of '_Barbara Jane's Sleep-In'_ can be out there?" It was a light, nearly humorous argument that he knew his father needed; so he kept going.

"Well, you know…Unusual, but catchy."

"Yeah, rig— " Hearing a grunt from the other room, both Winchesters dropped the conversation to check on the third.

Dean cringed as he walked into his brother's room. It smelled sour, damp, and nearly mildew-ish. _Was the smell there before Sam threw up?_

"You okay, Sam?" A frequent question these days; but one look at Sam sitting up, clutching his forehead and wincing, told them 'no'.

"I-" Sam's upper body was visibly trembling; and, for a moment, Dean's mind took off wondering why Sam had said he'd let them down. _I'm the one who let you down._. "T-the b-blood."

John passed Dean, sitting beside his son on the bed, grabbing his son's elbows as Dean reached for the garbage can, and Sam, once again, let loose.

"Sam." Dean immediately recognized the tone of his father's voice from all of the times one of them was hurt; _firm, yet gentle_. "What blood?" John, making sure the vomiting was over, let his son's elbows go.

"I don't know." Sam's voice was thick with sleep and strain; his eyes were matted closed. "But it's all I can see."

"Sammy," Dean moved, shoving the garbage can out of the way, kneeling by his brother's bedside. "What started you being so upset? Why are you sorry?"

"I heard Dad arguing with somebody earlier. They said I belonged in hell. That I was going to be evil." The rush of angry words caused Sam to lie down flat, accidentally placing his legs on his father's lap.

"Son," John looked from Sam to Dean; if Sam wasn't there, his older son might have punched him by now.

"I heard you say 'Gordon'; was it Gordon?"

"Yes. Yes, it was Gordon."

"What secret are you keeping from me?" Dean caught sight of his father swallowing hard.

"No secret, Sam. Gordon's crazy – probably possessed— "

"That's your lying tone, Dad," Sam interrupted. If Sam could see, John figured, he'd have both of his son's glaring against him. The father was just thankful that Dean wasn't saying anything – adding on to his wanting to tell the truth.

"_No_, it's not. Now try to get some rest." Quickly, before either of his children could spout out questions, he swerved out of Sam's leg-grasp, and moved out of the room; catching sight of Dean following him.

"Dad." He paused in the middle of the family room, letting his son confront him. "What the hell is up with Gordon? And what about James? And why are you bull-shitting Sam?"

"I— "

"No more excuses, Dad. They just get old a little too quickly. I want the truth."

"Okay," John maneuvered over and pulled up a plastic green chair, his son sitting opposite him – _waiting_.

And so, for the next fifteen minutes, Dean listened; listened to his father's grief and fear; felt his own pulse speed up rapidly and then slow; he felt his own fear accelerate. Then, after John got up, and left the room, Dean swore to himself that he would do anything and everything for his brother. He'd die for him; he'd kill for him, and when and if worse came to worse…

He'd never, ever let that happen.

And one thing was for sure; he was most definitely going to kill Gordon.

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A/N: Once again – thank you for all of the reviews! You guys are wonderful!!! 

As always, thanks to _Wild Wolf Free17 _for beta'ing!

The next chapter should be up either Wednesday, or Saturday.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** Once again, my deepest thanks to Wild Wolf Free17, for being an awesome beta! And, I owe even more thanks to you all and your wonderful reviews! As for the next chapter update, (I promise you, I will not leave you hanging!); I'm going to be going on a three week trip to stalk stars at the Country Music Festival, and then I'm going on a cruise. I'm bringing my laptop, and will try to update; but I promise that there will be a chapter up by the 30th. _

_**Warning:** Dean gets a little irritated in this chapter – be warned for cussing! _

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Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 5

The write-up on his latest prey had been as easy as manipulating his father, and hacking into the police database. Gordon Walker, 6'2, male, African-American.

The problem was finding the man. And with tips from the owners and bartenders of pubs around the town, he had successfully.

The corner where he sat was lone and dark. He nursed a beer bottle, with a shot of whisky sitting across from him. As Dean saw it, the man screamed hunter from a mile away. His black, piercing gaze owned his entire corner. The army knife's silver blade stuck out like a sore thumb from his boot. _The man almost wanted to be known_.

"Can I have this seat?" Those five words took a lot of self-manipulation out of the older brother. He didn't wait for an answer, he didn't wait for the evil son-of-a-bitch to look up; he just sat and grabbed the whisky.

"Boy, did your momma ever teach you etiquette?" Gordon looked up with a nod, giving Dean a free welcome.

Dean hissed. "No. She wasn't around long enough to. And you know that."

"Four beers, please." Gordon made sure the waitress acknowledged him before he turned to Dean, a smirk on his face. "Yeah, you look just like your father."

"That's a lie." He was smug, not giving into the friendly bull.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see you here. John's too big of a slug to admit anything. Where is he, at home, taking care of your baby brother?" Gordon chuckled, enjoying himself.

"Fuck off."

"Easy, my boy." Gordon sat up, leaned across the small table, merely inches away from Dean's snarling face. "I'm just making small talk. I had a feeling we'd get along real well. I had a feeling your brother and I would be the first-based enemies." He paused, drawing in a deep breath. "What, oh what has happened to my feelings?"

"I don't know." Dean shoved himself a few inches away from the table, away from Gordon. "Maybe they went to hell."

"Ah." The man laughed again. "They beat me there."

"Damn straight." Gordon sauntered back and Dean pressed his face closer; he was the malefactor, after all. "But it shouldn't be too long before you catch up with them." He paused, observing Gordon's shocked look. "In the _pit_ of Hell."

"Now, boy, why are you so angry?" Either Gordon was a good actor, or the past night where Sam overheard John talking to the man was a dream.

"Tell me all that you know about my brother."

"Well, Dean." Gordon shifted in his chair. "I don't think you want to hear that."

"Oh, believe me. I do."

"You don't understand, boy—"

"Shut the fuck up, you evil son of a--"

"Well, hey, hey, take it easy now." Gordon threw his hands up in the air, a surrendering gesture.

"Did you blind him?" Dean shoved himself out of the chair – leaning all the way across the table. "Did you blind him, you asshole? Answer me, dammit."

"He's on the demon's side." The only parts of Gordon's body that moved were his eyes. "He's evil. It had to be done."

"You—"

"The next step is to kill him." Gordon was possessed; his talk related to that of a zombie's. "Kill him, and all of the children like him."

* * *

"Dad." Sam's voice was tense, questioning, worried. He was blind; he couldn't read his watch, or check the calendar, but he knew it had been days since Dean had been back. His father brushed it off – he'd rather his own child believe he was going dumb than be worried about his brother.

"Yes, Sam?" John sighed; he'd been preparing the answer for a while now. He'd let Dean go and confront their enemy without an argument. John had alerted the Roadhouse, he'd alerted Bobby and anyone else he could. Telling Sam was another thing. Admitting to his second born that he'd failed was another thing. Admitting that he passed up the job of killing their enemy, putting the pressure of it all on Dean, was the most shameful thing that he could imagine. And now, Dean was gone. Knowing Gordon Walker, Dean could even be…Well, he chose not to go that route.

"How long has it been?" John and Sam swallowed simultaneously; John was the only one who knew.

"One week."

"God, Dad." Sam shook his head, too exhausted from the worry to be angry. "Why? How?"

"I don't know, Sammy." John looked down, tears moistening the lining of his eyes. "I don't know."

"Do you know—"Sam drew in a deep breath, taking a hand and rubbing it across his forehead. "Do you know how he is?"

"No." The first thing John's mother taught him was that truth was a valuable thing, but each time he told it, he hated himself more and more.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Sam." John went and sat down by his son, resting his hand on his son's arm. Sam was perched on the edge of his cot, hands in fists, his body swaying back and forth, eyes shut tight. John knew that Sam was nervous; terrified, even. So was he. "We'll find him. We'll make you better. And I swear to God, I will hunt down the damn beast that did this to you and your brother. There's a way out, and I'm gonna make sure you boys are on the side of good before the war ever comes."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Okay, here is the next update…finally! And as for proof of where I went on my vacation, I will have pictures and the whole write up on the Country Music Fest at my live journal as of next week. Oh, right, and I met LeAnn Rimes – who knows Jensen Ackles. That thrilled me to no end. So, thank you all for waiting.

And, uh, I'm sorry about the Dean hurting towards the end, here…

Also, I'd like to thank _Wild Wolf Free17 _for being a wonderful beta

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Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 6

Sam Winchester tossed his walking stick to the side with a grunt, unaware of his father's glance of disapproval. It had been one torturous week of grasping the feel of how to search for walls and objects in front of him, another three days of passing through his father's man-made obstacle course; and all had been done without Dean. A blind man could only learn so much; and Sam wasn't even whole. It had been one week and four days since his brother had left to go confront their uncharted enemy – and he never returned.

"Sam." Sam heard a shuffle of feet, and felt his father's hand rest on his shoulder, the stick being shoved back in his hand. "You've got to use it."

"How can I?" He gulped, leaning against a wall of their rental house. "When will it be time to just give up?"

"Never." He felt his father's hand slide off of him, and heard John walk away.

_Never_…Never was a frightening word. Sam laughed in dismay. Never meant eternity. Never was a term that John was beginning to use a lot more often. Maybe he liked it; maybe John was teaming up with Gordon Walker against his sons.

_A war is coming._ Four words. Four words that had haunted Sam since the night their enemy had showed up. _A war is coming, and Sam is on the side of evil_. His brother was already gone; and if Sam's 'evil' side was at fault for that, he'd never think about taking another blind breath again.

* * *

"_Tell me all that you know about my brother."_

"_Well, Dean.," Gordon shifted in his chair. "I don't think you want to hear that."_

"_Oh, believe me. I do."_

"_You don't understand, boy—"_

"_Shut the fuck up, you evil son of a--"_

"_Well, hey, hey, take it easy now." Gordon threw h is hands up in the air, a surrendering gesture. _

"_Did you blind him?" Dean shoved himself out of the chair – leaning all the way across the table. "Did you blind him, you asshole? Answer me, dammit."_

"_He's on the demon's side." The only parts of Gordon's body that moved were his eyes. "He's evil. It had to be done."_

"_You—"_

"_The next step is to kill him." Gordon was possessed; his talk related to that of a zombie's. "Kill him, and all of the children like him."_

"_You don't even know what the hell you're talking about." _

"_On, no, son." Gordon shook his head, an evil smile etching at his lips. "I sure do." _

_Dean noticed for the first time that the bar was quiet. With a look around, he discovered that no one except Gordon was in there. And with him looking around, he was too busy to notice the needle prodding its way through his scalp, into the vessels of his head. _

* * *

"You evil son of a bitch." Dean looked up with his one good eye to see his abuser laugh for the millionth time since he had been drugged and taken to a desolate warehouse in the middle of no where. 

"Oh, admit it, Dean." The laugh seemed to linger. "Admit that you enjoy it."

"Enjoy you giving me a continuous black eye?" Dean shook his head, regretting it the second after. _His brain couldn't take much more physical or mental abuse_. "Don't think so."

"Oh, well." Gordon walked around Dean's chair – the place where he was held captive. "If it's any consolation-" He paused long enough to punch Dean hard in the shoulder. "Your family doesn't even miss you anymore."

Dean's head was unwillingly bent, but he still managed to glare at the man. "What did you do to them?"

"It's not what I've _done_, Dean." Gordon grinned, bringing his hand up next to his head and pretending to shoot into space. "It's what I'm going to do."

"Oh no." Dean closed his eyes, and then reopened them, watching blood drip onto his jeans. "Oh God, you wouldn't."

"Unfortunately, I would." Gordon stopped altogether, bending over to pull the Swiss Army Knife out of his left boot.

"_No_."

"Just a nice, swift, easy stab for your daddy." Gordon looked at his prisoner, dicing through the air with his knife like it was a sword. "And then Sammy—" He began walking around his captive, once again; making grinding chops with the blade. "Sammy I'll have to take my moments torture."

"No. _Oh, God_. No." Dean was beginning to cough up blood as images of his brother being stabbed raced through his brain. "I'm the only one who's allowed to call him that." He pulled himself up, to his senses; to his sarcastic defense.

"Sorry, Dean." Gordon stopped once again, pressing the sharp blade against Dean's earlobe. "But I don't think you're in much of a negotiating position at this point."

"Damn you."

Gordon pressed until there was blood seeping its way through the earlobe, onto Dean's flannel shirt. "Wouldn't you just hate to see your little brother being chopped up, bit by bit?"

"_God_, please."

"Don't think the Man upstairs is gonna be too much of a help to you now, young one." The evildoer brought the knife down to Dean's bellybutton. "Betcha you wish that you were dealing with a demonic bastard over a real human being, huh?"

Dean screamed as the knife found its' way inside, praying to God and thanking Him that it only went in half of an inch.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N:_ Alright, everyone. I'm sorry for the late updates. Last week we were bombarded with company, making the number of people in this home go up to 11…

So, I hope to get the updates back on track. The good news is there are only four more chapters to go!

And last but not least, I'd like to thank Wild Wolf Free17 for taking the time out of her day to beta this for me.

* * *

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 7

When Dean woke, it was to the unwelcome taste of copper and the bittersweet sensation of his muscles being flexed. He realized that he was tied up to a wooden chair – still in his captor's lair.

"Morning, Dean." He took in the sound of Gordon's voice, scoffing.

"What? We're not in too much of a playful mood this morning, are we?" Dean heard the sound of footsteps coming towards him, and another man's laugh.

For all this time, as far as he could recall, it had just been Gordon and him. Just him listening to Gordon's haunting laugh while being physically and verbally abused. Now, though, there was a stranger's laugh. Yet, as Dean's stomach began to throb from the un-stitched stab wound, it became vaguely familiar.

"Miss me, son?" Dean, once more, opened his sleep-crusted eyes to see the unfortunately-memorable form of a man from ages ago. He re-closed his eyes as another torrent of pain overtook him, his wrists pushing against their binds. "_James_."

"Right." He could feel the man stepping closer to him, breaking the barriers of his comfort-zone. "You look like hell, by the way." Dean's wrists broke tighter into the ropes, burning themselves forcefully.

"Recalling memories, there, Dean?" It was Gordon, this time around. The sound of him saying his name made Dean's brain go into a spasm.

"How-" Dean's chin dropped against the area where his neck and chest became one. He was now too weak to hold his head up any longer. "-ow'd you make it disappear?" The bar and all of the people from however long ago that was. He figured Gordon would first rub the question in his face, and then give him a lie of an answer.

He was wrong.

"Simple, Dean. Mind control." Ah, so it was a setup. All of those people who directed him to Gordon had been brainwashed. He had been brainwashed into believing he'd walked into a bar. Or, maybe it was a vision-ness spell that Gordon had brought up. At least something in his life was explainable.

Maybe even Sam's blindness was a part of mind control. Maybe the gas that was splashed on Sam was really water. And if he could figure out a way to get loose and kill James and Gordon, dismissing the fact that they were humans, his brother could see again.

For the first time in little over a week, Dean felt reassurance. Before he slipped back into unconsciousness, he found his brain spelling out the words, "Thank you, Gordon." And he wouldn't take for granted one other thing that he'd learned – Gordon had some source of power.

* * *

John Winchester closed his eyes in pain and relief at the fact that Sam had finally fallen asleep. Years ago seemed to carry happy, haunting memories back to him from when Dean was preoccupied and he used to put Sam to sleep. Before, little Sam always asked for a "happy" bedtime story. Now, Sam asked for John's promise of finding Dean. And soon. 

But before now, John had never realized how much he missed putting Sam to sleep with a "happy" bed time story. And, carrying on Mary's tradition, he stood by the door, watching his mighty-giant breath in, and whispered "Angels are watching over you."

Not knowing how true that was, he took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

_Did I leave that window open?_ He couldn't remember for the life of him. John watched, transfixed, as a small piece of note-paper flittered through the window, landing gracefully on the kitchen counter.

Panic groping at his mind, John took a quick step towards the paper and scooped it up; reading the short message over and over again.

_Your sons' time's running out, John. _

_Angels probably won't be of much help either. _

Shit. Now he had a ransom. This one though, included both of his sons.

John dropped the letter and raced to the door. _Too late_, Gordon was already gone.

* * *

As the blood came flooding in, Sam forced his conscious to connect – he needed to wake up, and now. 

Still, the blood came, leaving him sweating and calling out for John. He knew the words were reaching outside of his closed box. He knew his father could find a way to wake him up, to get rid of the blood. Just make his world be blank again.

He sighed in relief as he felt a smooth hand on his arm; the blood rushed away, leaving him in nothingness again. Blindly, Sam opened his eyes – a new form of black seeped in on him as his eyes seized in their sockets. He could feel his brain twitching with the newfound color; yet it seemed so familiar. He shut his eyes tightly and reopened them just in time to feel a drop of perspiration dribble in. Once more, his eyes convulsed, sending him images of wood panels, and fire.

Sam shivered and jumped, realizing that the fire was touching his arm. By now, he was hollering like mad for his father. Had John already been engulfed in the scorching flames?

The fire moved, rubbing his arm, making humming sounds as it did so. As five seconds passed by, confusion crawled into the victim as he realized his arm wasn't burning. Or even on fire – nor could he smell the dreadful smoke; and he knew that that sense was one of his best.

The fire on his arm took the form of a delicate, feminine hand; the thicker burst of flames transformed into sheets of the purest white, and at the top, golden locks of hair.

"It's going to be okay, Sam." Never before in his life had Sam felt so calm and safe.

His eyes, now their clear-green, opened wider and his head tilted up in awe. "I'm _always_ protecting you."

Burning tears rushed into Sam's eyes as the angelic figure took its complete, entire appearance. "_Mom_?"


	8. Chapter 8

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 8

_The fire on his arm took the form of a delicate, feminine hand; the thicker burst of flames transformed into sheets of the purest white, and at the top, golden locks of hair. _

"_It's going to be okay, Sam." Never before in his life had Sam felt so calm and safe. _

_His eyes, now their clear-blue, opened wider and his head tilted up in awe. "I'm always protecting you."_

_Burning tears rushed into Sam's eyes as the angelic figure took its complete, entire appearance_. "_Mom_?"

At the sound of Sam's hoarse inquiry, the ethereal figure nodded its head, giving off a soft smile and clasped Sam's right hand in hers.

The young man, unbelieving, reached out with his left hand and touched his mother's face – it was solid.

Mary, sensing her son's disbelief, reached for his unclasped hand and also took it in hers. "I'm here." She un-grasped one of Sam's hands for a small second, just long enough to wipe a tear from his face. "Not for long, though." Her gentle, mothering features transformed into pain and anger as she looked towards the ceiling – then back again. "They're just giving me long enough to tell you where Dean is."

"They?" Sam's brow furrowed incredulously, and his face grew serious. "Dean. Y-you know?"

The ghost's tight smile returned quickly, as she nodded her head in confirmation. "I see everything you, your brother, and your father-" Mary's frame flickered as her expression grew even more withered. "I keep track." She drew in a solid breath, a living breath, and brushed her emotions aside. "Dean is in danger."

Sam swallowed hard, blinking as him being able to finally see sank in. "Where?"

"Listen to me, Sam." The young Winchester winced as his mother squeezed his wrists too tightly, forcing her urgency to sink in. "Your brother is in a warehouse, fifty miles from here." Sam watched as his mother flickered to black yet again. "_Pinny's_." Sam attentively studied his mother's somber face, his eyes beginning to burn at the havoc rolling around in his mind; his grip, in turn, tightened around her gentle hands.

Mary looked into her son's inquisitive eyes; he could feel her tender gaze searching his brain for something – he didn't know what. "I know there is so much you want to know." She felt his grip tightening around her – to a living person, their hands would have popped – all she could feel was his love and desire for a mother he barely had. Ghosts – or angels – were experts at reading people; she was beyond expertise in reading her family. "But I have to go." Mary searched her lifeless soul for tears; she wanted to match her son – match his eternal pain. She too, gripped his wrists tighter as she felt her own self fading away. Mary already parted with Sam twice in his life due to fire; once, in his nursery, the other time in their old home. Now, as she found herself enveloped in flames and letting Sam go; it was in a home too lonely for her family – and the worst part was having to watch Sam, heartbroken and confused, return to his ongoing darkness.

* * *

Sam's consciousness finally pulled itself together. In one moment, he was able to see – his mother was with him; the next, he found himself once again consumed in nothingness, and her last words of _"I'm proud of you,"_ still rang out in the damp air. 

Other than her ringing words, his hands groped at his sides, searching for some unseen proof. He smiled sadly when what was left of her touch pierced through his arm. Sam found himself drinking up his mother's touch, wanting to keep it there forever. In another way, the better, more common sense of his mind got to him and he found himself yet again calling out for his father.

This go-round, in rabid hurry, he sensed John at his side. His assumption proved correct when calloused fingers reached around his shoulder.

"Sam, you okay?"

Sam found himself in the midst of drawing in a deep breath. "I think I know where Dean is."

"What?" His father's touch faltered. "Did you have a vision? Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The younger of the two decided it was best not to tell his father about being able to see again or his mother's visit. "I'm fine."

"Thank God." Sam was aware of his father's sigh of relief, and he let out another smile, but bigger this time. "Exactly."

"What was your vision?" Sam slowly let his father help him up.

"Pinny's warehouse. Fifty miles away from here."

"That's pretty exact." John's arm gently found its way around his son's back, beneath Sam's underarms as he guided him towards the front door. The blinding morning light was now pouring in through the windows. "Is Dean alright?"

Sam stopped; his father's arm still remained securely around him. What to tell his father was a hard decision. Had Dean already been harmed, or was he still yet to be? His mother left that terrifying mission up to him to figure out. And, as much as he hated to admit it, a vision would have better helped him see how Dean was – and the exact building he was in. But in his current state, Sam couldn't dream or see pictures; so now, he had to rely on the very real coming back of his mother.

And all he knew now was that Dean was in danger. Serious as hell danger. And he still was second guessing himself and his supposed "evil" powers about his brother's absence. Demons had resources; why couldn't he have blind, unknown resources?

"I don't know." There, that was the truth; or close to it.

"Alright." John cleared his throat; Sam could feel that his father was just as scared as he was.

The man in his twenties started heading for the door once more, John right beside him.

As the door screeched open, Sam pressed his eyes tighter together – he might not be able to see the sunlight, but he could sure feel its scorching rays.

At his father's gasp, Sam tilted his head, knowing something was immediately off.

"What's wrong?" He was aware of John shaking his head and his slow-growing disappointment.

"Nothing, Sam." Without doubt, Sam knew his father was lying. And if he wasn't blind, he would see that all four of the tires on his father's truck were slashed. The battery, smashed on the ground in pieces. "It's just going to be a little while longer before we can go rescue your brother."

* * *

Much thanks to Wild Wolf Free17 for being an awesome beta! 


	9. Chapter 9

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 9

John looked around warily at the disarray of slashed tires. _Damn it_. Of course, their enemies would be clever enough to figure out their next step. And how the hell would he get to town? It was over twelve miles away. And if he did get there, how would he bring the tires back? And a new car battery?

With a huff, John turned to Sam who was acting as an innocent bystander. If his wise, parenting emotions hadn't outweighed those of rage, he would've asked Sam if he had seen this in his vision.

Thankfully, as always, there was a plan B. He'd just call a cab.

"Dad, is there something wrong with the truck?" His son's inquiry interrupted his great task of pulling out his cell phone. Sam had always been too clever for his own good. And that was before his kid went psychic.

"Yeah."

"What about the spare tire in the back?" _What about three extra spare tires and a car battery_?

"It's worse then that." How his son knew to remain quiet, John would never know – but in the pure, eerily silence, he began dialing information. Though before he could press send, the buzzing of another motor, and tires trudging through the gravel driveway interrupted him.

"Who is it?" John looked from his son up to see a big black truck, one comparable to his, round the corner. The windows were tinted, but he still caught sight of the familiar baseball cap and salt and pepper beard. He looked back to Sam who was now steadying himself away from his father, and grinned. "Bobby."

"Looks like I arrived just in time." John's gaze filtered back to his old friend climbing out of his truck, looking at the tires strewn helter-skelter.

"It's about time," John replied sarcastically as Bobby Singer started walking up to them, the older man's eyes saddened when they locked on Sam – who, despite the circumstances, was smiling.

"How're you doing, boy?" Bobby locked his grip on Sam's shoulders; Sam in turn, attempted to do the same.

"I've been better." Sam turned his head in the direction of his father who was watching the interaction quietly.

"How'd you know to come here?" John stepped up to the plate.

"Got a tip." Bobby looked at Sam pointedly – he, and his brother, still didn't know about the Roadhouse.

"There's a chain of warehouses not fifty miles north of here. And lots of people have reported sightings of Gordon's vehicle."

"I'll be damned." Sam's father looked back and forth between his son and his friend. His son's visions – despite the blindness, had pointed them in the accurate direction.

"Well." John's gaze lingered on his son for a little longer. He knew he needed his son there with him when they fought the men – but would his boy be able to defend himself when attacked?

"Sam." Though, instead of looking at Sam, Bobby looked directly at John as if he were reading his mind. "Shouldn't you be staying here in your condition?"

"Bobby." Sam stood his ground, unwavering as a loud clap of thunder boomed far off in the distance. "I'm getting my brother. Blind or not."

* * *

Over an hour later, John found himself beginning to realize the hell that Sam was going through as he let a string of cusswords revolve around in his head. He could barely see Bobby beside him, and Sam was ahead of them, finding his way expertly through the dark maze of pipes in the warehouse. 

Just a few steps back, Bobby motioned for him to turn off his flashlight. He knew they were getting close; his hunter instincts were beginning to seep in full-force, and as they found their way amongst the maze, he began hearing whispering noises. There was no deciphering the words, no sight of their enemies or his son; just one lone light off in the distance and a string of pipes that burned his every side.

"We need to stop." The determined father halted mid-step at the sound of his younger boy's words. He noticed Sam bending down, feeling the floor with his hands. John knew he could've questioned his son, but when Sam tilted his head up in his direction and stood up, he pulled out his knife, acknowledging Bobby doing the same.

"Sam, you need to go behind us." John looked at Bobby, for the first time feeling the odd sensation of nervousness. His son had felt the vibrations of footsteps through the floor; now though, he could hear them.

As a few more seconds passed on, the sounds of ironically happy whistling poured through the air as the footsteps pressed closer. _This was it. He was going to get Gordon_.

Soon, the form of a hunter-built man, with his all-too confident stride, began making his way towards them, or, since he couldn't see them – the entrance. Without hesitation, John let his shoulders tighten in as he clutched the knife closer; Bobby did the same, giving him a nod. _Ready._ The second the man rounded the corner, John and Bobby lashed out; striking their enemy in the heart and the throat.

John took a step towards his son as their adversary began to teeter, falling backwards. All of his life, he didn't mind knives as a way of killing. They were silent and unexpected if you hit the supernatural specimen in the right place. But now, he had used them on a human; now, he hated knives.

"James!" Unconsciously, John felt himself jump at the sound of someone yelling; and he finally looked down, his eyes adapting to the darkness. The man that he'd just slaughtered was James; which meant Gordon was somewhere in the building – either with his oldest son, torturing him, or coming towards them – ready to kill.

* * *

A/N: The end is coming soon – I _promise_! That is if I save it before my computer (with a newly found virus) crashes. Anyway, thank you all for reading, and all of your kind reviews – I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to do it. Also, once again, thanks to the extremely patient Wild Wolf Free17 for betaing this.

-Andrea


	10. Chapter 10

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 10

The sound of his father…or Bobby pressing a knife through something – or _someone_, caused Sam to stumble back a few steps and land on what he assumed to be a pipe. _One of the many_. The truth was, he figured there were enough pipes in the warehouse for ten boiler rooms. Luckily enough for him though, this particular duct was damp, not hot.

"Sam." John was sure that if he just lipped his son's name, he would be able to hear him. That was how the blindness worked. "You've got to stay here." Sam nodded. He'd always been the one to revolt against his father's commands; this time, with all of their lives at stake, he'd commit.

* * *

John was satisfied; Sam was staying put and leaning on his crutch. A cane sounded too old – a poking or walking stick sounded _way too_ inappropriate in Sam's opinion. 

He began moving forward silently, inch by inch getting more entangled in the maze of pipes. His thoughts began pressing at him…Sam was blind – that was unfixable. That was, currently, his smallest problem. He had to find and kill Gordon – he had to rescue Dean. He had to make sure both of his boys made it out of the warehouse safely – Bobby and him dead or not. _Those_ were his orders, his mission. There was a reason the demon didn't take his life at the hospital; the yellow-eyed-thing already knew what hell was coming in the future.

And then, what seemed like just seconds later, they were there. The room was lighted by one flickering bulb and dozens of melting candles spread around a chair. _The chair_. John felt his heart race, yet his breath slowed down immeasurably. Dean was slouched in the chair, looking beyond death. His son was beaten, gagged, bruised, and bleeding. Gordon's back was to them – facing Dean while holding a book and muttering things under his breath.

"_It's a spell_." The words Bobby whispered in his ear sent chills up and down his body, through his heart. He _knew _what it was – his brain was just incapable of processing anything at the given moment. He found himself unable to move. Maybe that was what the spell was doing. Maybe Gordon already knew they were there.

_Handing Sam to him…_

_Watching him run out of the house…_

_Watching him in a coma… _

Suddenly, and for the briefest of seconds, John found himself staring into his older boy's eyes – and then it was gone. Dean was still slouched over in the chair; yet John was able to move along side Bobby and sneak up to Gordon. They were walking up so easily; their weapons raised – too easily, in fact.

"Stop it right there, John." The sound of a book closing – the spell book – thundered in his ears as Gordon turned around.

"So you think you can kill me that easily?"

"Why the hell wouldn't we?" Bobby clutched his gun a little tighter – glared a little harder into their enemy's eyes. "We killed James easily. Why not you?"

"Because of the spell I'm putting on Dean." Gordon hissed his last sentence and then grinned. "Just like the one I put on Sam."

"Why?" John's voice broke.

"Why not?" Gordon began pacing back and forth around Dean – around the candles – around them. "Sam's going evil. The blindness was the easiest thing. Throw some tainted water on him and: _bam! _His eyes burst. And trust me, it's slowing him down."

"And Dean?"

"I could've just let it be, but Dean—" Gordon stopped to look at his captive for a second. "Well, the man wouldn't have stopped until he killed me. He'd risk his life for that evil-sonnova-bitch he calls his brother. Wait until Sam just turns on him."

John took a step forward, aiming his weapon higher. "Sam won't."

Gordon snickered. "Give it time, Winchester. Give it time."

"I have. I've given it twenty-three years and he's still good. And there is no way in hell now that I'm going to turn against my own son."

"Then you're gonna die."

"I'll go down good."

"You see-" For a split second, John caught Gordon frowning. "You would risk your life any day now for Dean." The man continued on pacing. "But you're not entirely sure if you'd risk your life for Sam."

"I would risk it any and every day for both of my children."

"If you'd die for them…why aren't you killing me for them?" Once again, Gordon came to an abrupt stop. Other then a spell book and a knife in his boot, he had no source of weaponry. He was an open target with two guns pointed at him. He should've been dead minutes ago.

"Because I like a fair fight."

"No. In truth, James wasn't a fair fight – but you had no other choice. He was coming for you. I'm not. We're standing here, talking. Human to human. Which you are completely terrified of killing."

"If you enjoy this—" John nodded his head towards Dean. "You're no human." And with that, he pulled the trigger and killed Gordon.

* * *

The second the gunshot sounded, Sam felt the walls – or threads of pipe closing in on him with every living breath. 

It couldn't have been Dean or his father. It couldn't have been Bobby. It had to be Gordon. They had to have killed Gordon.

Yet when the first gunshot went off, many more followed. So many more that Sam had lost count. He was getting sick, nauseous, and his head was pounding like never before.

What he was experiencing now, it seemed, was worse then any vision he'd ever experienced. With a gasp, he realized he'd fallen to the ground. The pounding was getting worse, and deeper, it seemed. Colors – actual colors were beginning to race through his brain – making his eyes burn. Everything was building up – and then it all crashed down to a stop. Sam passed out.

* * *

A/N: To everyone, I'm so sorry about the wait! I promise you I had it done – I just never got around to logging on and actually posting it. The epilogue is coming soon – and that will be the end of this set! To all of my readers and reviewers, thank you so much! It really does make my day. And thanks to Wild Wolf Free17 for beta'ing this and putting up with me. 


	11. Epilogue

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 11

"Epilogue"

They called it a miracle. A trip to the hospital and sixty-eight stitches later (not all necessarily for the same person) – the Winchesters had encountered a miracle.

The healing really started on the fifth day. Five days marked since Gordon had been assassinated, since Dean had been brought back home (and stitched); since Sam had started seeing various shades of color, and the outline of human forms.

His doctors were beyond amazed. Offering to call in other out-of-state-doctors; nagging them that if they called in a few favors, Hollywood would run wild.

John just raised his finger to the ceiling, muttering something about how God was the only other one who should know, the one who worked the "real" miracles. Granted, he would've let Dr. Emry and crew take the praise for Sam's healing – but he _hated_ Dr. Emry. Plus, the whole truth was that the spell had unwound itself.

And for Sam, he thanked God…a little bit. Besides, the spell shouldn't have done that much.

Dean, for the change of things, had a broken wrist. Usually, his secondborn was the one blessed with having that problem. All his son wanted to do, and had done for five days in a row was complain and cuss – except, when he was around Sam, he pulled out his big-brother side…the best side of Dean he'd ever seen in years.

* * *

It had been a month, and after uncountable, tremendous headaches that he never let-on, Sam was beginning to see details. Details in the colored blobs, in his brother – he could make out his green eyes, his father – the full-grown beard was there. In his dreams, just of his mother, he could see completely clearly. She would talk to him still - send him messages, give him facts about life…What their next hunt would take on. No, he couldn't smell her or touch her – but he could watch her. She mainly guided him through the pain of his eyesight gradually coming back; and the flood of unknown, unwanted emotions that welled up inside him each day.

They would be leaving Georgia in a week, there was a Trickster on the loose; and by all means, they needed a little humor in their lives.

He was glad though. Glad to finally get out of a place he once thought could be a home and now was a living nightmare. He would feel free…a road trip with his brother and dad, like it used to be – without all the fighting.

* * *

A/N: IT'S OVER!!! To tell you the truth, I'm relieved, and I'm sure most of you readers are too. Once again, to anyone who's been staying with me and reviewing – I really appreciate all of it! So thank you very much. And as a side note to Wild Wolf Free17, my wonderful, patient beta – I owe her much gratitude. 


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